Short Story

The following is a short story based on the story of Gideon from the perspective of one of the three hundred, set in a PAW, five years after an event.

We were taking a break from the forge when the bugler sounded his horn. The tune was from old westerns that signaled the cavalry charge. For us, it meant that there was a need for the militia to gather. A moment later, the bugler rode into the yard at a gallop. He slowed his horse, and trotted over to us

“Major Thompson has sent word out that the militia needs to meet. A force is coming from Lawrence, scouts say nearly a thousand men. Hurry to the old rest stop with two days rations!” the young man called out, turning his horse and galloping off. As he rode, we could hear him play the tune.

I went inside the house, changing from my dirty smithing clothes into what my wife and kids called my “uniform.” Then came the rest of my gear. When I came out, my apprentice had readied my horse.

“I wish I could go with you,” Eric said.

“I know, but I need you to stay with Lana and the children. You and Brandon are to protect the house and family while I’m away. Besides, if everyone has your fighting spirit, it’ll be no problem turning the Lawrencians away,” I smiled as I climbed into the saddle.

As I turned my horse, Lana stepped outside, and handed me my small Bible. I leaned down and kissed her, then took off at a trot.

*******

Upon reaching the old rest stop, I found fewer men than I had hoped for. While we couldn’t have matched them evenly, we could have brought around 500 to the fight. Instead we would be lucky if there were three hundred present. I shook my head. Looking around, I couldn’t find another person from my area. Then a familiar face popped up, that of Eric’s older brother, Jonathan.

He searched for his brother behind me, looking up questioningly when he didn’t see Eric.

“Where’s my brother, afraid to fight?” Jonathan sneered.

“No, Eric was willing, but I asked him to stay and protect my family. Where is your father, afraid to fight?” I asked, silencing the young man.

“He said it was hopeless to fight so many,” Jonathan replied.

“If that’s his attitude, then it would be hopeless for him,” I answered, heading toward Major Thompson.

********

Hours later, we mustered in a group around a small platform, upon which stood Maj. Thompson.

“Men, we go to fight an enemy that vastly outnumbers us. In fact, we’ve learned that as they march they are picking up more men. We are likely looking at closer to 2500 men. The men of Hertz have decided to stay in their town and defend it from there. We are all that will go forward and meet the enemy in the field. If any of you is afraid to fight, if any feels that this endeavor is hopeless, he may leave. The rest will prepare to march.”

As I watched, over half of the men assembled left. I couldn’t believe it, the odds had increased significantly. I was certainly growing fearful, but I would not turn home. If I would not stand and fight for my family, my lands, and my community, then who would?

Jonathan stayed, I saw, although the uncertainty in his eyes was plain to see.

“Mr. Adamson, I would ask that you send your horse with those who are returning to their homes. From here on, we will travel by foot only.” Maj. Thompson informed me.

I obeyed and sent my horse home with an unlucky soul. I say he was unlucky because Lana was likely to berate him rather harshly.

The remaining 130 of us formed into rows of five, and set off on a march.

After hours of marching, we reached a stopping point. Maj. Thompson gave the order for a rest, and most of the men dropped their packs to the ground and sat in the road, in formation. I and several others walked into the edge of the woods, finding spots to sit that allowed limited access to us.

As the men rested, Maj. Thompson came to those of us in the woods, and told us to keep ourselves separate from the main group when we formed back up. When we did this, we found that we had again cut our number. Of the 130, 40 men would fight.

*********

That night, as the forty of us waited, Maj. Thompson asked me to accompany him on a short mission. We snuck in close to the line of guard posts, where we overheard two men talking about the conditions inside the camp.

“We don’t want to be here, but what choice did we have? Twenty against 1500, we would have been wiped out,” said one man.

“Same here. I expect that’s true of most of the people here, other than the people from Lawrence and Kilroan. They were the ones who agreed to this.”

With that we snuck back to our own camp. There, we were each handed a butane lighter, a box of m80 type fire crackers, and several rolls of black cats. Then we were divided into three groups. Fifteen would attack the northern line, fifteen the southern, and ten the eastern.

The enemy, conveniently camped on the road, would then only have west to go, away from Hertz and even away from their homes.

Before we broke up, we were told to wait until the bugle sounded to throw our fireworks.

When the bugle sounded, we began throwing the fireworks into the encampment. The confusion was so great that as men fled into the camp, they were shot by their own allies, and thus began all night firefights between friends. Few escaped, most falling to the guns of their own side.

Those that did escape ran unknowingly into the remaining 90 men who had come, though we didn’t know that they had been set up to help.

It’s been estimated that only 50-100 men who marched against us made it back alive. Jonathan asked why I stayed to fight, why I didn’t send his brother. My answer was that it is my job to protect my family, and I knew that someone from Eric’s family would be present at the fight.

Many of us returned home with new equipment, and a renewed faith thanks to Major Thompson giving a rousing speech thanking God for the victory, and the safety of our men.

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Short Story